


Rocking the Boat

by HungeringForHunkles (3HobbitsInATrenchcoat)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Aftercare, Asexual Ford Pines, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Self-Insert, Self-Isolation Fic, Sleepy Cuddles, Spanking, Stan O' War II, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, they/them pronouns for reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/HungeringForHunkles
Summary: You're in self-isolation with Stan and Ford, who you've been dating since before the world went to shit. A look at one of many long evenings spent pleasurably aboard the Stan O' War II.ABSOLUTELY NOT STANC*ST. PLEASE DO NOT TAG/BOOKMARK AS STANC*ST.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader, Stan Pines/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	Rocking the Boat

**Author's Note:**

> This started life as me wanting to write some stanwich sin and then chickening out because too many people could take that entirely the wrong way and I am Very VERY sensitive to inc*st. So what you get instead is over 6k words of some very explicit Stan content and some very soft Ford content. 
> 
> For the sake of being thorough, please don't tag or bookmark this as stanc*st. It's not. I'll cry. ~~I hate that I have to say this. T.T~~
> 
> Also, for non-binary and trans readers... there's some slight body dysphoria content relevant to myself? It's only one line and only clear if you know what you're looking for, but if that bothers you skip the paragraph that starts "With a swift shuffle..."

The doldrums may lay heavy in the air as you isolate as far away from land as possible, but no day could ever be dull on the Stan O' War with your two loves at the helm.

You had arrived on their dock early in the year, duffle bag thrown over one shoulder and a dead, flat look in your eyes. Stan took one look at you and hauled you on board, muttering curses about “why did we save the world when it's so intent on ripping itself apart anyway.” None of you wanted to think about the state of the world though, so you had soon gathered as many supplies as you could and headed out to the open sea.

Now mornings are spent quietly with one or both of the Stans, drinking coffee as you watch the sun rise rosy over the endless ocean. Afternoons are for plotting a course to uninhabited islands and potential anomalies, far away from any other people. But evenings... evenings are for the three of you to find your merry way to bed.

Currently you are slung over Stan's lap, face pressed into Ford's still clothed thigh and ass pulled uncomfortably high in the air. Your knees are bound together with Ford's belt, not tight enough that your toes are going numb, but enough that scrambling away is out of the question.

Ford pets your hair softly with one hand, the other gently but firmly settled between your shoulder-blades to both steady you and keep you from rolling away. Occasionally he pauses to press a thumb lightly into the sucked bruises along your neck and shoulders, making your breath hitch with the added sensation.

A firm slap breaks across your ass and you keen, rocking forward into Ford's thigh, panting a damp patch into the leg of his slacks. You fight the belt for a moment, instinct driving you to separate your legs. Whether for more secure balance or for cool air to balance out the molten heat between your legs, you aren't completely certain.

Your fingers strain with the same urge, but Stan's belt is wrapped around your wrists, holding them crossed behind your back. Stan himself has an arm wrapped across the small of your back, hand gripping one hip. You are truly at their mercy as his hand comes down again and again, drawing angry welts across the tender flesh. With a gasp you lurch forward, struggling to keep yourself upright, at war with your own mind as to whether you should escape the stinging pain or press towards it with need.

All you really succeed is doing is pressing your face a little more firmly into Ford's thigh and wiggling your ass a bit helplessly.

The blows subside into one broad hand resting on the heated skin. Stan rubs his thumb possessively over the rising welts and when he speaks his voice cracks with want.

“You're so good for us, sweetheart.” Your ass still stings with his last strike and he skates his hand soothingly over the red marks. “You do so much for us, trust us with all your heart.” His hand draws back and you hear the whistle of air right before he strikes your other cheek one last time, though this smack is more light and playful. You whimper into Ford's thigh and he makes a soft affectionate noise as his hand skates through your sweat-damp hair.

“Yes, you are good. I would say I can't believe how lucky we are to have you, but I've learned to trust luck over the years.” He shifts a little, you hear his shirt rustle softly as he turns to speak to Stan. “I think they're nearly done, Stanley. If you don't mind, I'll help you get them settled and then go tend to my work for a little while.”

Stan swallows audibly. “Sounds good, Sixer. Can you get the belts? I gotta rest my hands a minute.”

There's a hum of acknowledgment from the scientist and he reaches one-handed over your back, working the belt around your wrists open. After a second, he frowns and tilts his knees up to keep you from rolling. With a soft curse he fiddles with the belt buckle with both hands, relaxing a bit as you feel it loosen. Ford gently lowers your arms to your sides, rubbing them to help with any lost circulation. Carefully, he rolls you over and lifts you a bit, only to lay you gently on the pillows at the head of the bed before making quick work of the belt just above your knees.

“There now, love,” says Ford, taking a step back to admire you spread languidly across the sheets. “That looks far more comfortable.” He bends down to rest his own broad hand across your cheek, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “I'll be in the galley if the two of you need anything, never you worry.” With a stroke of his thumb across your cheekbones, he withdraws and you hear the door click shut behind him.

Stan settles down next to you, massaging his right hand. “You got a sturdy ass, dear. I'm gonna break my hand across it someday and then where are we gonna be?”

You laugh, still a little breathless, and roll towards him. “I keep telling you to save your hands and use toys. I'm sure Ford would whip something up if you asked nicely.”

“Heh, he probably already has.” Stan grins down at you. “Even if he doesn't like reaping the obvious benefits of this arrangement, he gets some kind of perverse pleasure out of watching you squirm that I'd never deny him.”

You make a mental note to ask Ford about his theoretical toy inventions later, you can nearly see the arousing competence followed by blushy stuttering that would follow any attempted explanations. For now though...

“Admit it, you also get 'perverse pleasure' out of it.” You wiggle closer and reach out to play with the top button of Stan's shirt. “And other pleasure if I have my say. Com'ere.” With a burst of adrenaline surprising in the wake of the ass-whooping you've just received, you fist your hand into the material of Stan's shirt and drag him down on top of you, crashing your lips together hungrily.

Stan chuckles into your mouth, sliding a hand down your side to settle on your hip. “You've been eager for contact since the very first strike, haven't you? One of these days I'm gonna stick that little vibrator you like so much between your legs while Ford and I take your ass apart.”

“Damnit, Stan.” You manage to gasp into his mouth. “I'm not going to last long if you talk like that.”

“Isn't that the point, sweetheart?” He shifts a little and his mouth moves from yours only to settle just below your ear, refreshing the bruised marks he'd left earlier in the day. His hand slides from your hip to slip between your legs, fingers pushing into your folds and bracketing the hard nub of your clit. He flicks his thumb over the tip and you full-body jerk at the sensation.

His voice is barely louder than a growled whisper as he speaks against your heated skin. “I'm going to edge you into a writhing mess, and then I am going to fuck you until we both see stars.”

The whimper leaving your mouth becomes a howling keen as he bites the join of your shoulder and neck at the same time his hand twists just the way you like it. He runs his tongue over the forming bruise and you can feel his grin against your skin.

“What was that, babe? Didn't think Ford could quite hear you from the galley.” The reminder of your other partner wrenches another sob from your lips and your legs fall open further to give Stan better access.

True to his word, Stan brings you to the edge quickly, before removing his hand and focusing on kissing his way along your jaw and tweaking talented fingers across your nipples. As soon as you pant and buck against the air seeking friction he withdraws entirely, catching your heavily lidded gaze with his own lust-darkened eyes. Sitting back, he slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing inch after inch of chest dusted with coarse hair. You swallow thickly and he bats away your seeking hand with a grin.

“Patience, dear. We have all evening.” The shirt slides down his back and off his arms and you notice that the top button of his pants has already been popped to give him some relief from the not-insignificant boner straining at the seams. You also note, with no small bit of satisfaction, a sizable damp spot on his thigh from where you'd lay as he spanked you.

He makes a show of leaning back in, but doesn't prevent you from reaching up to run your hand through his chest hair. His gold chain and medallion dangle in front of your face and you gently wrap your fingers around it to tug Stan into another kiss. He follows eagerly, one hand keeping himself from crushing you and the other sliding back between your legs. This time he keeps his thumb firmly on your clit but slides two fingers easily inside, slowly but steadily pumping in and out, fingertips crooking just a little to graze against the bundle of nerves found within.

Soon you are shuddering against the sheets, hands scrabbling for purchase on the mattress and Stan's back. You're trembling, approaching climax and... Stan withdraws again, leaving you open and aching. You feel your cunt clenching around empty air and you whine with frustration, bucking your hips petulantly. Stan laughs and palms himself through his pants, a rough groan of his own filling the small room.

“Think... think you can go again?” Stan's voice is horse and his breathing is harsh, catching in his throat as his gaze flits down your body. Unable to really form coherent words, you nod and mumble out the closest approximation to “yes” that you can manage through slack, gasping lips. Stan smiles, a gentle thing that contrasts with the lustful glint in his eyes. “Alright, one more time, sweetheart. Don't hold back, let me really hear you.”

With a swift shuffle, Stan grabs your ankles and drags you towards him. He slides his hands down your legs and under your hips, lifting you up as he lowers his mouth to wrap his lips around your throbbing clit. You fuzzily think that if you had a dick, Stan would give amazing blowjobs, maybe you ought to see if he can suck a strap-on like that... but that thought quickly shorts out as he flutters his tongue over the tip. Distantly, you hear your own voice keen in pleasure and over-sensitivity. Your body shudders and you feel yourself start to clench again. Stan pulls off your clit with a wet “pop” and grins down at you, his face glistening with your slick. He gently lowers your legs to the bed before moving his hands to his fly, slowly popping open the buttons one by one with obvious relief.

You lick your lips and Stan groans as he finally pulls his dick out and gives it a few lazy strokes. The head is nearly purple with how hard he is, precum beading at the tip with every pass of his hand.

“You... you enjoying putting on a show for me, old man?” Your voice is rough, but you manage to pant out the words with a grin.

“Old man, huh?” Stan strokes himself again with a thoughtful look on his face. “Could an old man do this?” Stan kicks his legs out in what looks like an attempt to smoothly remove his pants, but he ends up sprawled across the foot of the bed, struggling to dislodge his foot from a stubborn sock. With a curse he yanks off the offending clothing and chucks it across the room, where it lands in a sad lump under the dresser. Finally divested of the rest of his clothes he turns back to you, crawling up to press heated kisses along your jawline, his dick pressing hard against your hip.

“Fuck yeah, I've still got it.” He mutters mulishly against your throat and you can't help the giggles that bubble up and fill the small room. Finally mostly in control of your arms again, you reach up and cradle his face in your hands, pulling him up into a sloppy kiss. He returns it eagerly, strong arms encircling you. His embrace is warm and welcome against the creeping chill of the ocean outside and you feel content.

Your contentment lasts only a moment as he chuckles to himself. That is the only warning you have before he is flipping the two of you over, settling you into his lap as he leans up against the pillows. He has a mischievous smirk on his face as his hands wander down your back to settle on your ass, squeezing the bruises he left there with the barest minimum of pressure. You gasp, hitching forward, your slick mound sliding against his dick. Stan's grip shifts and tightens over your hipbones, offering support as you rock a bit unsteadily against him. Your clit drags across the head of his dick and you both suck in ragged breaths.

“Oh, doll,” Stan groans out, fingers digging in and trembling. “All this for me?” He slips one hand down to push a thumb between your folds, applying pressure to the bundle of nerves just below the head of your clit. You ache with the contact and suddenly just rocking against him isn't enough. Biting your lip in anticipation you reach between your legs and wrap your hand around Stan, the slide of your hand aided by your own slick. You're just about to tilt forward and sink down on his thick cock when a vice-like grip grabs your wrist. Despite your protesting groan of confusion and frustrated arousal, he pulls your hand out from between the two of you and settles it on his chest.

“Nuh uh, none of that. I said I was gonna fuck you into this mattress until we saw stars and I meant it.”

However, he makes no move to flip you back over, merely tilts his hips up to drag his dick across your mound. Your body lurches forward and you brace yourself against his chest with a needy whine.

“Oh for fucks sake, Stan.” You grit out between your teeth as you realize that he's once again edging you towards an orgasm he won't let you have. “You're a big fucking tease.”

“You love me for it though, sweetheart,” he says, smirking up at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I do,” you agree with a growing smirk of your own. “But two can play at this game.” You lean down to press a kiss against the side of his mouth and as soon as he's distracted you wiggle your way down the bed to settle between his legs. With no more warning than a perfunctory flick of your wrist as you palm your hand over his cock, you sink your mouth down. Stan tastes of a musky mix of yourself and the underlying salty tang that is uniquely him, and he's thick enough that it is a bit of a stretch to get him comfortably into your mouth. You bob unevenly for a moment, trying to get a rhythm going and then hum deeply and contentedly around him as you feel one of his broad hands tangle in your hair.

“Ohhh, _fuck_ ,” You thought his voice was wrecked before but now it is utterly ruined. It cracks over the words and trails off into an unintelligible moan. His grip tightens in your hair and his hips buck desperately. It's incredibly flattering how just a few strokes of your tongue can reduce a man like Stan Pines into a incoherent mess. You mentally grin to yourself, unable to stretch your mouth further around him to grin for real.

Hollowing your cheeks you sink down as deep as you can, feeling the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. You swallow as best you can around him, eyes watering but feeling a sense of satisfied pride as he moans helplessly above you. His thrusts have become slightly frantic and his fingers in your hair are just shy of painful. “Honey, I... I ain't gonna last if you keep... keep this up. Suffering _fuck... I...”_

You can feel the warning twitches in his dick and you slide off with an obscene pop, laying your cheek against his thigh with a grin. He makes a noise that he will always deny is a helpless whine, but you know in your heart _absolutely is._ He takes a moment to lay panting against the sheets, fingers still twitching in your hair, his clearly aching cock bobbing temptingly in front of your face. You blow a stream of cool air across the head and he flinches.

“Jeez, fine. You've proved your point, get your ass up here then.” You let him drag you up his body by the hair, but is it really dragging when you're willingly crawling along to sprawl against his chest with a shit eating grin on your face? He lets you lay bonelessly for a second and then prods at your side until you roll off of him. He follows, pinning your arms and legs with his own body-weight and leaning down to press a filthy kiss against your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, or do I need to belt your wrists again?” he asks almost conversationally as he nudges your legs apart with his knees. You nod and he grins. “That's what I like to see, sweetcheeks.” He pauses for a moment to drink in the sight of you, arousal flushed and panting. Without taking his eyes off you, he reaches for the bedside drawer and pulls out a condom packet that he rips open with his teeth. By feel and long years of practice he slides the latex down his dick, breath hitching as his fingers brush against more sensitive spots.

You're loose from the earlier foreplay, but Stan still swipes two fingers through your slick before pushing them inside you and scissoring to make sure you're nice and open. He avoids brushing against your oversensitive clit, which you're both grateful for and resentful about. You can tell from the way his breath is stuttering that he's just as impatient as you are, but you know he would do anything to avoid hurting you. At least, anything to avoid hurting you in ways you haven't specifically requested.

Like the spanking from earlier. You can't feel the bruises now since arousal is clouding most of your senses in a heady haze, but you know you'll be feeling them tomorrow. Stan's fingers crook inside you and that train of thought breaks off as your breath hitches into an overstimulated sob.

After a few more long, slow strokes he finally slides his fingers out, wiping them off on the sheets. You shoot him a reproachful look and he laughs a bit unsteadily. “Gonna have to wash them anyway, you're leaving quite the mess yourself.” He doesn't give you time to respond, instead pulling one leg upward with one hand and guiding himself against you with the other.

You feel the blunt head press against your entrance and then Stan slips in – inch by agonizing inch – until he's buried to the hilt. He freezes in place for a long second, his breathing ragged as his chest heaves. He's still for so long you're about to ask him if he's okay when his hands grip your knees hard, keeping your legs spread apart as he withdraws almost completely before slamming back into you.

Stan sets a bruising pace, his thighs slapping against you as he practically lifts your hips off the bed to fuck into you. You blindly reach back and grip the headboard behind you for support, hardly hearing your own voice in your ears as you cry out with every thrust.

“God, doll,” Stan pants as he finds his rhythm, “I know I stretched you good, but you're still so... so fucking _tight_.” He shifts just a little bit and you let out a broken wail as the head of his cock drags over your g-spot. “So fucking good for me,” says Stan, almost reverently, slowing his pace just a bit to hit the bundle of nerves a few more times, sending you twisting and writhing with several more bitten off cries. After a moment the bed creaks as Stan lets go of your knees, leaning forward to grip the headboard next to you. His chest is heaving just in front of your face and you have the strongest urge to lean up and lick the sweat beading across it. You would, if you had the mental wherewithal to lift your head.

Instead, you take the opportunity of sudden freedom to wrap your legs around his waist and bring him in closer. He gasps out a stuttered swear, pistoning hips faltering for just a moment. “Fucking hell, sweetheart. You're gonna be the death of me one of these days,” he manages to groan out. You answer with a grin and rotate your hips just so, managing to scrounge up just enough energy to clench around him. You're rewarded with a throaty growl as Stan thrusts with renewed vigor, one hand still against the headboard for support as his other reaches down to thumb at your clit.

It doesn't take long before you are bucking up into him again, your body wracked with sobs as your legs tremble where they wrap around his waist. You can feel his body trembling too as he continues his relentless pace, his harsh movements shaking the whole bed (impressive since the thing is bolted to the cabin floor).

You feel your orgasm building, molten heat seemingly starting from your toes and rolling up your body. This time Stan does nothing to stop it, merely fucks you through it as your back arches and you nearly scream with the sensation. The heat washes over you and trembling aftershocks follow it, jolting through your body with every one of Stan's thrusts. With an overstimulated whine you push his hand away from your clit, sliding it to your hip as his own thrusts start to falter.

“Oh shit,” he groans, his hips stuttering forward as you clench desperately around him. “I... _fuck_.” His silver-tongued con-man's mouth fails him and he groans long and loud as he thrusts hard and deep one more time before freezing. Distantly through the post-orgasmic daze you feel his cock pulsing hot within you. His hips twitch a few more times, wringing soft overstimulated cries from one or both of you, it's hard to tell in the hazy aftermath.

It seems to take monumental effort but Stan pries his hand away from the headboard and collapses to your side, gathering you into his arms as he pulls out. He spends a few moments just curled around you, both of you taking slow, steady breaths to calm your racing hearts. His fingers pet softly against your hair and he presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Love ya, doll,” he whispers into your hair. “I'm gonna get myself cleaned up and then go out on deck for a smoke. Want me to send Ford in? He's probably already got some of his hot cocoa ready and waiting.”

You arch your back in a catlike stretch and press your own kiss gently to his jaw. “That sounds nice.” The world is fuzzy around you, air heavy as a blanket against your bare skin. “Don't forget to grab a mug for yourself on your way out...”

With a chuckle Stan slides his hand down to cradle your face, easily cupping your entire cheek in one broad palm. He presses one last kiss to your lips - a chaste, careful thing compared to the feverish exchange mere minutes ago – before rolling slowly to his feet. Through half-lidded eyes you watch him dispose of the condom and pull on a worn pair of gray sweatpants, his one concession to the chill of the open sea.

He stops in the open doorway, looking back at you with a fond expression softening his face. With sleepy dismissal you wave one hand at him in a shooing motion. “Go have your smoke, 'm not moving for a while.”

A hum of agreement floats through the room and as your eyes float shut you hear him pad down the hallway towards the galley and the deck beyond. There's a brief mutter of conversation just outside your ability to both hear and understand followed by the unmistakable sound of a high-six. You can see in your mind's eye Ford sitting at the galley table, nose still buried in his book but high-sixing his brother just the same. The thought makes you giggle, though that quickly becomes a yawn.

“I see you're quite worn out, my dear.” Ford says from the doorway. You startle a little. Stan has a heavy tread that could wake the dead but Ford barely makes a sound at all. Sometimes you think you should stick a bell on him just so he will stop accidentally sneaking up on you.

Blinking blearily at him, you watch as he crosses the room to sit on the side of the bed, his arms cradling a bowl and a blanket yet still managing to hold onto two steaming mugs with one hand. He sets the mugs and the bowl on the nightstand before draping the blanket over the foot of the bed. You notice distantly that he changed out of his slacks and button-down from earlier into a soft knit sweater and a pair of warm sweatpants. Perfect cuddling clothes. With a gentle smile he leans down, brushing a stray hair away from your face before laying a kiss on your forehead. You let him but then reach out, intending to pull him into a hug.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, laughing and darting away from your grasping hands. “Stanley was grinning ear to ear when he sauntered through the galley so I can only assume that you did.” You nod, feeling a blush rising in your cheeks. “Wonderful, love. Do you mind...” he trails off, gesturing at the bowl. A wisp of steam rises from within it and you can smell the faintest woody hint of bergamot and lavender.

You raise one tired eyebrow at Ford and he shrugs, pink dusting across his cheekbones as his eyes dart away from yours. “You know I don't go for all the... physical mess that you and Stan seem to enjoy. But I do like to take care of my loved ones. I thought maybe you'd enjoy a warm towel in addition to the cocoa. I did a little research to find some calming scents and optimal temperatures...” The pink has deepened and spread to his ears, you find it utterly charming. He takes a deep breath.

“I want to take care of you, if you'll allow me.” Ford reaches across into the bowl and pulls out a steaming towel. He holds it up in question and you murmur a sleepy agreement. With a chuckle he drapes the warm cloth over his hand, reaching out to slide it down the side of your face and neck. You lean into the touch, a hum of satisfaction rumbling in your chest as Ford moves the cloth across your entire body. He works efficiently but gently and only stops to pull a fresh cloth from the bowl. The room is silent save for the faint lap of water outside and Ford's even breathing.

You find yourself slowly starting to drift, the warm pressure of the cloth lulling you into the halfway point between sleep and wakefulness. As in all things, Ford is careful and methodical, gently wiping sweat from your limbs and letting warmth linger in places that might be sore in the morning.

He taps your bare hip with one long finger, drawing you out of the drifting haze. “Roll over for a moment, my dear? I need to check for damage, we went a little hard on you this evening.” You don't know how he can be so flustered about everything else and yet be so matter of fact about helping Stan turn your ass all sorts of fun shades.

With a token grumble you roll, flopping a bit since your arms still feel heavy in the aftermath. “is nothing I can't handle, Ford. You've seen me take worse, hell you've given out far worse...” Despite your protestations you hiss in a pained breath as Ford's prodding fingers gently examine your ass and upper thighs. The bruises will fade in a day or less, but for now they are fresh, probably starting to mottle purple in the fading evening light.

There's a rattle from the direction of the towel bowl. “This might sting a little,” warns Ford, and you bury your face in the pillow to stifle the alarmed squeak that punches its way out of your throat as he rubs an ice cube over the worst parts. You feel your face heat up in embarrassment as you realize that the heat from your ass is melting the cube faster than normal. Ford follows the cube with a warm cloth, focusing on your back with the heat as well, then runs a gentle hand over the skin. He makes a low, thoughtful rumble of a hum, then you feel him get up from the bed and take the few steps to the bathroom. The sound of the medicine cabinet opening is followed by a rummaging noise and the crinkle of paper before his footsteps approach again and the bed dips as he settles back on the edge.

“What's wrong?” you ask, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of one eye. He holds up one of those small circular bandages you were never sure would find a use.

“You just have a couple burst capillaries. It happens sometimes, I am surprised it hasn't happened before now.” Ford squints at the paper between his fingers – the tiny bandage proving a bit of a challenge – before he sighs and resorts to ripping the small latex circle out of the wrappings. He carefully fixes a few bandages and then pats your hip again. “You can roll back over now, just have your arms left.

You laugh. “Saving your favorite bit for last, I see how it is.” Ford has made no secret about how much he enjoys your arms from an aesthetic point of view. The man might not want to pin you to the cabin wall like his brother does, but he says that watching you work alongside them on the boat, arms freckling in the sunlight, brings him a certain sort of joy.

“How can your arms not be my favorite, when they are made for hugging me?” he says with a smile as you roll over.

You feel your face heat and you raise your hands to cover your blushing cheeks. “You can't just _say stuff like that,_ ” you whine, embarrassed. Ford has a knack for saying just the right thing to turn you into a puddle of gooey emotion and you hate how much it makes your heart flip in your chest.

Ford laughs and pries your hands away from your face, running the cloth over your arms before carefully taking your hands between his. He holds them still for a long moment, expression soft but thoughtful. With purpose he gently rubs the cloth between each finger before lifting your hands to place a kiss in the center of each palm.

He withdraws his mouth, but you slide one hand to the side, cupping his cheek. Exerting very little pressure you draw him closer until he leans over you, a hand braced along your side as you lift your face up to press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. He huffs out a breathy laugh, reaching with his other hand to crook one finger under your chin, adjusting the angle of your face so he can fit his lips firmly but gently against yours. You smile into the kiss and feel him do the same, his sweater-clad arms wrapping around you.

While kisses with Stan might quickly devolve into messy things with one of you ending up backed into a wall, kisses with Ford are slow and gentle. He likes to take his time, never going much farther than the slow press of lips leaving your mouth and brushing down your jaw and neck. Sometimes he leaves marks because he knows you enjoy carrying around the little bruises as some sort of trophy. But most often, like tonight, his lips move softly against your own before he leans your foreheads together, breath mingling in the still air.

“I am so incredibly lucky, my love,” he says after a long moment. He sits back up and busies himself with tidying up the towels, eyes focused on some point just past his hands. “You could have just chosen Stanley. I would have... understood. I am not interested in most of the things that conventional relationships seem to demand. But instead you accepted both of us.” His gaze shifts back to you and the warmth in his eyes is enough to make your heart flutter in your chest. “So thank you. Thank you for letting me be a sappy old man every once in a while.”

“Anytime, Ford.” You smile back at him. “Now, you mentioned something about cocoa before you started getting all handsy?” The flush that had stained his cheeks earlier returns full-force and your smile draws into a grin.

“I... I was not handsy!” He splutters out after a moment. “Aftercare is incredibly important and if I have to use my hands to do it, well...” He stops, takes a breath, and his body relaxes. “I really need to learn not to take the bait, don't I?”

“Well, I for one find you incredibly attractive when you get flustered and start lecturing, so...” You interrupt yourself with a yawn that is so wide your toes curl. “... so can you really blame me?”

“I suppose I can't,” says Ford with a chuckle. He reaches down to the foot of the bed and grabs the blanket he'd draped there a few minutes ago. It's a large quilt in the greens and blues of the open ocean, made with Ford's own hands just for you in the early days of isolation. He helps you sit up a little and drapes it around your shoulders, tucking it around you so that only your hands and face are free. With a quiet _oof_ he swings his legs up onto the bed and settles against the headboard beside you. You blink contentedly and when you open your eyes again he's pressing a warm mug of cocoa into your hands, his fingers gently brushing against yours.

“I delayed long enough it should be a comfortable drinking temperature,” Ford says, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and lifting his own mug to his lips with the other. He takes a sip and sighs happily, tugging you against his side. The two of you sit in the peaceful silence, slowly sipping the warm chocolate and resting in each others company. Ford is always so active, it's nice to just relax beside him. No looming monstrous threat, no planned expeditions, no experiments demanding immediate attention – just the two of you snuggled together on a bed rocking gently with the motion of the sea outside the window.

It's perfect.

Your eyes start to droop as your belly fills with warmth and the cocoon of the quilt and Ford's arms starts lulling you back into a dream-like state. You almost don't notice Ford gently prying the empty mug from your loosening fingers. He lifts you just a little to shift you down the bed, leaving you wrapped in your quilt and cushioning your head on a pillow. Reaching out, he brushes one knuckle along your jaw before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Distantly you hear Stan's heavy tread coming back down the hall, preceded by the faintest whiff of cigar smoke. The steps pause in the doorway and there's a soft chuckle.

“Out like a light then?” The footsteps approach the bed and the other side dips. “I could go for some sleep myself.”

“Nearly,” says Ford, and you _feel_ the bone-cracking yawn that follows as his whole body tenses and then relaxes even more than before. “I think you might have the right idea, Stanley.”

Ford often sleeps in his own bed one room over, his nightmares drive him to thrash in his sleep and he's expressed fear of hurting you or Stan before properly waking. But this evening there's a soft rustling as he pulls his sweater over his head and drops it by the bed for morning. He, like Stan, has opted for sweatpants against the ocean chill, and the fabric is soft against your legs as he curls against your side.

On your other side Stan leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead. He goes to lay down and pauses, grumbling, before pulling the sheets and blankets up from where they bunch at the foot of the mattress. “Heathens, the both of you. How do you sleep without your feet covered?” he says, mostly to himself, as he pulls the covers over himself and scooches close into your other side.

In the morning you'll wake up to Ford long-gone, the smell of coffee wafting in from the galley, and the heavy press of Stan sprawled across your chest and most of the bed. But for now, you drift off to sleep with your two greatest treasures slumbering softly on your shoulders.

It's a present you never asked for, but one for which you will be forever grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope y'all enjoyed reading this. It was a challenging but ultimately enjoyable writing experience. Over the course of writing this I grew to love writing second person present tense, its just so freeing to break out of my third person past tense shell every once in a while.
> 
> If you enjoyed this and want to scream about hunkles, leave a comment below or come find me on tumblr (link in my bio)!


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